


Tell 'em all I said 'Hi'

by griever11



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Five Plus One, Fluff, Post 7x13, Reveal, and a bonus, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griever11/pseuds/griever11
Summary: 5 times Oliver doesn’t get the memo that his wife is pregnant, and the 1 time he does.Post 7x13 one shot. Unabashedly fluffy.





	Tell 'em all I said 'Hi'

_5 times Oliver doesn’t get the memo that his wife is pregnant, and the 1 time he does._

 

* * *

 _ONE_  

* * *

 

_Mama Smoak is in the house!_

 

The blaring mechanical voice nearly causes the knife to slip out of Oliver’s hand and he scowls to himself, irritated at the fact that even after months of living with Felicity’s security system, it still manages to startle him now and then.

 

Working with the SCPD has clearly dulled his Arrow-senses. No one spars and trains with him like Diggle used to, and going legit - as Felicity likes to call it - means he doesn’t have to stay as sharp to make sure he survives the night. So much so that the security system manages to catch him unaware with Felicity’s ever changing recorded greetings.

 

Wait a _second._

 

The knife clatters onto the marble countertop as Oliver ducks out of the kitchen in search of his wife. “Hon?”

 

There’s a faint murmur from the front hall and he hurries because he’s only prepared enough food for two, and he’ll need to run to the store if -

 

“Is Donna here?” he blurts out when he finally finds Felicity, head cocked to the side, nestling her phone between her cheek and her shoulder. She’s leaning against the front door, hopping on one foot as she tries to take her ridiculous heels off.

 

God, she’s adorable.

 

“Hang on, Dinah.” Felicity says, then turns to him, a smile ready on her face. “What about mom?”

 

“Oh, I just thought... right.” He takes Felicity’s hand bag from her and smushes a kiss to her cheek. “It’s part of you adding personality to the system. I remember now. See, I listen.”

 

“Huh?” Felicity stares at him blankly but he just shakes his head and indicates for her to get back to her call. She resumes her conversation with Dinah, something about hiring her as a consultant to work on the SCPD’s abysmal security, which makes him laugh out loud. She’s not wrong, but from the little frown on her face, Dinah doesn’t share the sentiment.

 

Oliver goes back to his vegetables, flipping the knife in the air and catching it with expert ease, because Felicity’s home now and showing off in front of his wife is like, his second favourite past time after having sex with his wife so -

 

_Mama Smoak is in the house!_

 

This time he does lose his grip on the knife and it skitters across the smooth countertop before falling over the edge, dangerously close to his feet.

 

“Felicity!” he grumbles, wiping his hands down the front of his jeans and walking back to the front hall. “Is your voice thing broken? What are you -”

 

_Mama Smoak is in the house!_

 

Oh, for the love of  God, what is she _doing?_

 

She’s shedded her coat and her shoes and is standing right in the middle of their doorway where she’s installed the proximity sensor. Her arms are wide open, palms up, and the grin on her face is so big, so _free,_ that for a second he forgets that he’s supposed to be annoyed with her.

 

Until she takes a step back, then forward again, triggering her sensor once more.

 

_Mama Smoak is in the house!_

 

“Felicity, seriously,” he growls. He closes his hand around her outstretched arm, pulling her to him. “What are you doing?”

 

“Don’t you get it? I’m trying to -”

 

Her lips pucker around the word and he can’t help himself, planting a kiss on her, hugging her even closer to his body. He swallows her surprised ‘oof’, and slides his hand under and up her colourful shirt, stripes again (he doesn’t know when Iris returned this particular one, but he’s grateful for it - he loves all these colours on her), warming her skin with the breadth of his palm.

 

“Oh, _hi_ ,” Felicity sighs, licking into his mouth the way she knows he likes it. “Handsy today, huh?”

 

He soon forgets about her malfunctioning security voice protocol whatever-it-is, because she’s wrapping her legs around his hips and he’s tripping over his own feet trying to make it to their bedroom.

 

He’ll show her handsy.

 

* * *

TWO

* * *

 

 

They get around to having dinner eventually, lounging in matching bathrobes that William had given them for their anniversary, looking out of their floor-to-ceiling (bulletproof, reinforced glass) window at the city they both hate to love.

 

Oliver’s still languid and melty from his orgasm, half sprawled over Felicity’s lap. She has her fingers carding through his hair, equally relaxed, humming quietly under her breath.

 

“Wine?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really want to get up from his spot. But if Felicity wants wine, and she nearly always does, he’ll move. He’d move the Earth for her if she wanted.

 

“Hmm, nah,” she murmurs, fingers scratching lightly over his scalp. Her breath hitches, he feels it in the way her stomach flexes and his Felicity-senses go on high alert.

 

Pushing up on his forearms, he climbs over her, weathering Felicity’s huff of mild annoyance as he does so. “Really?” He nudges her nose with his, captures her top lip and kisses her, smooth and quick. “‘Not even one glass? You sure?”

 

Felicity shakes her head, her golden mess of curls falling over her cheeks. “Yeah, I’m sure. Stay here. I just want to enjoy this. It’s um, been a while since it’s been just you and me.”

 

He feels the familiar tug of sadness in his heart because he knows she’s thinking about William and their son’s sudden departure and -

 

“We’ll see him next week for the long weekend.” He laces their fingers together and falls back onto her lap. “You can bring him those ugly hats you insisted on buying yesterday.”

 

“They’re not ugly, you jerk,” Felicity smacks him on his shoulder. “You only think they are because you don’t understand Battlestar.”

 

“I understand the word _battle_ ,” Oliver mutters, nuzzling his face against her belly. His eyes flutter shut, his body right on the edge of falling asleep in her warm embrace. Felicity chuckles over him, fingers settling back in his hair.

 

As he’s tumbling into the gray area of blissful oblivion, he thinks she says something about future kids and non-violent battling but he’s too tired and too comfortable to spare her nonsensical ramblings a second thought.

 

* * *

 THREE

* * *

 

Morning arrives far too soon for him.

 

Which is yet another strange development of his post-Green Arrow, current SCPD consultant life. He used to function just fine with little to no sleep, but now he only wakes up when the sun is well and truly high in the sky. Even then, when he’s not needed at the precinct, he’s content to just... be lazy in bed.

 

Mostly because Felicity’s usually lazing about too, one of the perks of being able to work from home. Except today, apparently.

 

“Felicity?”

 

He waits for a second but when he doesn’t get a response, he shoves the blankets Felicity insists on cocooning them in and scrambles off the bed. His boxers are at the foot of the bed and he smirks fondly as he pulls them on, remembering how she woke him up from his nap on the couch only to ravish him well into the night.

 

The smell of coffee assaults his senses when he wanders into their kitchen, way too strong and potent for their usual cup of morning joe.

 

“Hey, baby,” Felicity greets him distractedly. She’s leaning against the kitchen island, with five cups of coffee in front of her, her tablet in hand and her spare tablet next to the row of cups. And... a rack of test tubes hooked up to some _thing_ that’s bubbling and giving out puffs of smoke every couple of seconds.  

 

What is her brilliant mind up to now?

 

“Uh, I know we were up late last night, but isn’t this a little excessive?” Oliver asks, reaching out for one of the cups, only to have Felicity growl at him and slap his fingers away.

 

“Don’t touch.”

 

He blinks dumbly at her. “What? Felicity, you have five -”

 

“They’ve all been synthesised and broken down. Don’t touch them, if you want actual coffee, go make your own, please.”

 

Oh, okay, she’s in a Mood. Capital M, because this one seems more severe than her usual ‘you tossed and turned so much last night I couldn't get any sleep’ mood, and feels more like a ‘I’m on the verge of a giant breakthrough in some tech thing and if you disturb me I will end you’ kind of mood.

 

“Hon, you’re gonna have to give me more than _‘synthesised_ ’,” he urges, narrowing his eyes at his wife. The cute wrinkle between her brows has appeared and he knows she’s about to -

 

She sighs and puts her tablet down.

 

“Oliver.” There it is.

 

She adjusts her glasses (oh, wow, how have they not played out his librarian fantasies yet?) and straightens her back in what he’s come to know as her ‘explaining things to mere mortals’ posture. “Coffee has a lot of caffeine.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Caffeine is bad.”

 

“Not necessarily,” he argues, only to slam his mouth shut at Felicity’s arched eyebrows. “Okay, caffeine is bad.”

 

“And I _love_ coffee.”

 

“I know. I do too.”

 

“So, I’m trying to synthesise a version of coffee that still has caffeine but hopefully doesn’t have the bad, human killing stuff in it. You know?”

 

“Isn’t that uh,” Oliver tilts his head in confusion. “That’s called decaf, babe.”

 

“No!” The glare she bestows upon him is downright scary. “No, decaf has _no_ caffeine. I want coffee, _with_ caffeine but no side effects. So I’m trying to find out how to do it. And I know I can, if I can just get some of these chemical reactions right, but I’m not a chemist, and ugh, my brain’s all foggy probably because I’m -”

 

“Okay, okay,” Oliver cuts her off before she spirals further into her rambling. “You’re making good-caffeine coffee. I get it. That’s why you’re Breaking Bad-ing our kitchen.”  

 

“Good job on the pop-culture reference. There’s hope for you yet.” She turns her head towards the strange contraption she’s set up next to her and frowns. “I kinda need this to work. I _really_ love coffee,” Felicity reiterates, pouting.

 

He grins, walking around the island so he’s standing face to face with her. “I’m well aware that if you could marry coffee, you would do it in a heartbeat.”

 

“Aw, no,” Felicity’s tongue darts out from between her lips and she hooks an arm around his neck, giving him a very thorough good morning kiss. Surprisingly, she doesn't taste of coffee. Hm. Best to double check.

 

Felicity giggles against his lips when rubs his scruff over her chin. She pokes him in his abs and  slides her hand down his arm to play with the ring on his finger.

 

“I’m very happy with my current marriage, thank you very much. I’m planning to keep this one going for a really long, long time.”

 

“Mm, Good to know.”

 

He hauls her up, gathering her into his arms and marches them back to the bedroom. He doesn’t need caffeine - good, or bad - to get him going in the morning. An armful of his wife, her curves melding into him, her voice breathy in his ear - that’s more than enough for him.

 

* * *

FOUR

* * *

 

 

They make a point to call William every evening. Even if it’s for a few minutes, they always find the time to sit down for a conversation with their son. It was part of the deal when they allowed him to leave with his grandparents to Central City, and so far, neither party has broken the agreement.

 

“Thank you again for talking to Iris about me helping out at Star Labs, Felicity,” William says, his face beaming up at them from the tablet’s screen.

 

“No problem, Will. Anything, I told you, honey.”

 

No matter how many times he’s heard them talk to each other, his heart never fails to grow ten times in size because this is his _family._ His parents are gone, Thea’s kind of half gone and these two people are all he has left and they’re not conventional in any sense, but he wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world.

 

Felicity took to motherhood so easily, slipping into the role like she was made for it the moment they stopped dancing around their rekindled feelings for each other. It helped that she and William shared the same interests, of course, but still. Every time she calls him her son and he refers to her as his step-mom, he feels like his heart’s about to burst out of his chest from the love between them.

 

God, he’s a sap.

 

“- and there’s like a million different kinds of Flash merchandise here, which Barry says I can have, for free! That’s the best part. I think.”

 

Oliver returns his attention to the call at the mention of the Flash, scowling at the screen. “Yeah, well, it’s the least he can do, since he’s basically making you work for free. Talk about child labour.”

 

“It’s not actual work, dad. I’m learning a lot from the team.” William rolls his eyes in such a _Felicity_ manner that he feels his heart skip a beat again. He’s slowly realising that his stint in prison had created a bond between them that he will never be able to fully understand nor does he want to.

 

The horrors that they went through at the hand of his stupid, selfish choices is theirs and _theirs_ alone. If they want to let him in on it, he won’t oppose it, but he doesn’t mind letting them have this one shared experience without him. He can give them that.

 

“Hey, should I get us matching Flash onesies?”

 

Felicity laughs, leaning against his shoulder, resting her chin on it. “Oh, _yes,_ I’d kill to see Oliver in a Flash onesie.”

 

He turns to his traitor of a wife, pinching her side gently. It was bad enough that he had to be in the Flash suit for those few horrible, horrible days. He’s not doing that ever again. “No. Just no.”

 

William grins gleefully back at him. “Yeah, okay, done. I can get you guys a pair, and oh! I’ll have to check and see how small they go, if they have special sizes for -”

 

“Why would you need a small size? Will, you’re taller than Felicity,” Oliver scoffs, jostling Felicity off his shoulder. She makes a weird gesture with her hands but he ignores it in favour of glaring at the small screen. “Which is irrelevant, because no one needs Flash onesies, William.”

 

“Uh.” A strange expression flickers over his son’s face, and for a second Oliver thinks maybe he should have just humoured him, let him get the dumb onesies for them. But then William clears his throat and smiles. “Well... okay, then. You let me know when I should get the onesies for us, Felicity.”

 

Oliver tears his eyes away from the screen to look at Felicity, picking up on an undercurrent of something that clearly only William and Felicity are privy to.

 

“What am I missing here?” he wonders out loud, still staring at Felicity. She keeps her gaze trained on the tablet, but Oliver doesn’t miss the way the vein in her temple pulses visibly, a sure sign that he is definitely missing _something._

 

“Nothing, dad,” William pipes up. “Look, I gotta go, so I’ll uh, leave you to talk, or whatever. Same time tomorrow?”

 

Felicity snaps the tablet up and waves eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, same time tomorrow, Will. Good night!”

 

“Night, Will,” Oliver echoes.

 

The screen winks out into darkness and their apartment is blanketed in silence. “Honey,” he starts. “What was that about?”

 

His wife, gorgeous in the pale moonlight streaming through the window, turns to face him with a faux-innocent expression that reminds him of the time he found out that she’d been secretly helping the team behind his back when they were on spontaneous trip around the world.

 

“Nothing, babe.”

 

She climbs on top of him, straddling his hips. Her hair falls in a curtain around them and she prods his mouth with her tongue, playful and insistent.

 

“Doesn’t - ah - doesn’t sound like nothing,” he breathes out. As much as it still hurts that his son no longer lives with them, he can’t deny that not having a teenager around has some very beneficial perks. Namely, being able to have all the sex he wants, whenever he wants. “What, God, _Felicity,_ what are you guys up to?”

 

“It’s more of what we’ve been up to, actually,” Felicity murmurs, brushing her lips along his jawline. Her hands trail down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with expert ease. “Around our anniversary, I think, but I’m not sure yet.”

 

“Huh?” He’s finding it hard to keep track of what she’s telling him with the way she’s grinding down on his lap, undulating against him. His hand curves around her ass, encouraging her along.

 

His pants are becoming seriously uncomfortable and when she sinks her teeth into his neck, biting him the way she knows he loves, he groans and arches up against her, all thoughts about whatever his two favourite people are scheming about completely disappear from his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

FIVE

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Oliver once again wakes up to a Felicity-less bed. It’s early too this time, barely even seven, and he has to tell himself to _calm the hell down_ , because she has every right to not want to wake up to morning sex just as he does to want to wake up to it.

 

But still. Missed opportunities and all that.

 

The pajama set she had on the night before is strewn in front of their ensuite and he huffs when he picks her clothes up and tosses them into the laundry hamper. He wonders what people would say if they found out that spoilt, grew up with nannies and house help Oliver Queen is the one who usually picks up after his family’s messes.

 

No one would believe it.

 

He sorts himself out quickly in the bathroom, puts on a clean pair of boxers and tugs on his jeans before leaving their room.

 

“Okay, but how would it look like if I established the company, and then took an extended leave of absence?”  

 

He stops mid-stride at the frustrated tone in her voice. What does she even need leave for? it’s not like they have any vacations planned any time soon.

 

“No, I’m not saying - _ugh,_ you’re not listening to me.”

 

She’s hunched over her desk, earbuds in, glaring at her laptop. Her fingers are running through her sleep-tousled hair and her feet are jiggling underneath the table.

 

Only one person can get her this worked up at this time of the day.

 

“ _Mo-om!_ ”

 

Oliver grins, striding over to stand behind his wife. True enough, Donna’s immaculately made up face stares back at him - _at Felicity_ \- a teasing smirk on her face. He can’t hear what she’s saying because of the earbuds, but he catches the recognition on Donna’s face when she spots him and he waves in greeting.

 

“Good morning,” he says cheerfully.

 

Felicity rocks back in her chair, yelping loudly and then turns around to fix her glare at him instead. “You scared me,” she accuses. “Don’t _do_ that. Jeez.”

 

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” he brushes a kiss over her forehead. “Breakfast?”

 

Her frown morphs into a blinding grin and she nods eagerly. “Yes, please!”

 

He turns towards their kitchen to make them breakfast, Felicity’s voice in the background resuming her conversation with her mom.

 

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been trying to, but the man doesn’t do subtle, at all. I keep getting distracted and don’t - I will soon. I promise, okay?”

 

Clearly whatever they’re talking about is annoying Felicity because there’s a bite in her words that he only hears when she’s annoyed and frustrated.

 

“I called you for advice, not to get a lecture. I think I’m old enough to know - oh my god mom, stop!”

 

Oliver pulls out the pan and the makings for waffles, chuckling to himself when Felicity actually growls at her mother. It sounds like an extra bowl of chocolate chips kind of morning, if the increasing volume of her voice is anything to go by.

 

“No, ugh! I don’t want your advice on sex, God, I _never_ will want that!”

 

He whisks the waffle batter with practiced ease, throwing in an extra spoonful of sugar for good measure.

 

“I just wanted to know, _mom_ , how long after you had me before you were back at work, _okay_?!”

 

Oh.

 

What.

 

Is. she.

 

Talking. About?

 

* * *

PLUS ONE

* * *

 

 

Oliver turns slowly towards his wife.

 

The bowl of batter falls from his hands, crashing against the kitchen tiles.

 

“Mom, I’m going to have to call you back.”

 

_What._

 

“Oliver?”

 

Felicity stumbles towards him, careful to avoid the mess on the floor, concern colouring her features.

 

“Oliver?” she repeats, fingers curling around his bicep. “What’s going on?”

 

His heart is in his throat, a small spark of hope flaring deep in his gut.

 

“What...” He can’t form the words he needs, afraid that if he speaks them into existence, something would just as quickly rip it from him. “Your mom...”

 

Felicity pulls him away from the counter, not an easy feat since his legs feel like lead, and his body feels like it no longer belongs to him. He feels like he’s floating, content to let Felicity drag him wherever she wants, his head crowded with the kind of thoughts that he once had forbidden himself to entertain because of the kind of life that he led.

 

But now...

 

Mama Smoak is in the house.

 

No wine.

 

Caffeine-less caffeinated coffee.

 

Small sized onesies.

 

 _Mom_ advice.

 

It all rushes at him at once, pieces of a puzzle falling into place as he recollects every conversation and every weird thing he’s experienced with Felicity in the last two days.

 

“Felicity,” he whispers, blinking at her, taking in the shy wonder in her eyes. The way she’s crossed her toes, the way her fingers are gripping his biceps so tightly her nails are probably going to leave marks in his skin.

 

“Felicity, say it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse with longing and anticipation and everything he’s ever wanted, but never dared to hope for.  

 

“Oliver.” She licks her lips once. She inches up on her toes, slides her tiny hands over his shoulders, up his neck, curving over his jawline on either side of his face, bringing his head down to to press their foreheads together.

 

“I’m _pregnant_.”

 

His heart soars.

 

* * *

BONUS

* * *

 

 

Much like her mother, he welcomes his daughter into his world rather suddenly and in a completely unexpected manner.

 

Felicity’s water breaks three weeks early, in the middle of the night, while she’s finishing off a carton of mint chip ice cream, balancing her laptop on her belly, finalising the roll out of Smoak Tech’s very first public-use security package. He’s in their home gym, stretching out his sore muscles before preparing for bed.

 

She hollers at him from the living room, calm and collected, yelling at him to grab their go-bag and to leave _right now_. He on the other hand, was neither calm nor collected, and forgets almost everything they’d gone through and practiced for their baby’s arrival.

 

He doesn’t remember much of their trip to the hospital, only that he broke a million traffic laws getting there but he’s the fucking Green Arrow, and he’s having a baby Green Arrow so the cops can very kindly fuck off with their tickets, thank you very much.

 

She’s in labour for five hours, taking everything on like the strong, amazing, superhuman woman that she is. She doesn’t yell at him, much, and only breaks one of his fingers through the entire ordeal.

 

Baby Mia Dearden Smoak-Queen is born early on a Wednesday morning. When the nurses hand her over to him, bundled up in the softest green fleece blanket, he turns to his wife, glowing with pride and exhaustion and he grins.

 

“Guess I finally got my Girl Wednesday, huh?”

 

* * *

END

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This wouldn't leave me alone, which meant that I busted this out in a couple of hours in between the busiest couple of days at work so. 
> 
> Yeah. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :) 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


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